


California Dreaming

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, I write stupid stuff, M/M, Sad Kurloz, Sadstuck, So OOC, You should read The Language Of Flowers, really good book, sad shit, sorry if that upsets anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:59:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've always done stupid things like that.<br/>Dressed up and gone trick or treating in June.<br/>Had Christmas dinner in March.</p><p>It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	California Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say about this except I just felt terrible one night so I wrote this through the early hours of the morning

You've always done stupid things like that.  
Dressed up and gone trick or treating in June.  
Had Christmas dinner in March.

You always brought him dead flowers, instead of live ones; anyone could go to a shop and buy a bouquet, but dead flowers? They weren't so easy, not easy to find. You'd have to go out and search for them, it meant you loved him more, since you took the time to do something that came from your heart and not your finances.  
You'd done so today, found a decent bunch of mostly dried up white lilies and apple blossoms, some of the milky white and pale gold still remaining so they looked almost watercolour. He's out with Meenah though, helping her with her car or something like that. You didn't pay much attention; you needn't do so, since you trusted him. He said he wouldn't be longer than an hour, you trusted him on that too. He said he'd bring lunch home too, and you looked forward to it.

Meanwhile, you sit and read a short novel that you found recently. Literally, found. It was out on a curb by the park, no cover sleeve or blurb anywhere in or on the book, only the gilded title, bright and shimmering against the matte black: The Language Of Flowers. You weren't even half way in, but you were captivated at the very least. You're trying to coax Cronus into reading it, but he's not much of an avid reader. He sometimes cuddles up with you while you read though, and when you attempt to convince him to try it, he'll just shut his eyes and play with your hair, and usually whispers, "read it to me" and if you ask for an explanation, he just smiles softly and replies, "don't like my voice. I like yours better". 

You chose your flowers carefully because of this book. Hence the name, it has many meanings of flowers, so you decided to research some for yourself. Thus, white lilies ('my love is pure') and apple blossom, ('I prefer you over all'). It was a hard job finding said flowers of the 'beyond life' variety, and you had trouble finding any in the first place, let alone those that had surpassed livelihood. You managed, however some of them could barely even be considered dead, but they'd suffice you suppose. You've reached chapter 10 of the first part of the novel, too hooked on the relationship details between Victoria and Elizabeth to hear the door click. 

You hear it shut rather loudly, though, and jump a little in your seat. You turn, and your face lights up as you see him, crisp white shirt no longer pristine; streaked in tacky oil and handprints. You rise, padding over to him and embracing him warmly, and he returns your contact, although he seems...Reluctant. You feel your heart sink a little, but try to brighten your spirits as you pull away, smiling at him and holding up a finger for him to remain still. He protests lightly:  
"Babe, hang on-"  
'Wait' you sign simply, and he exhales a little loudly. You squirm under his gaze; he's usually much more patient with you, never insists that you properly talk to him or forget what you're doing...He always kisses you when he comes in or leaves...Maybe he forgot? 

You hold up your flowers to present them to him, and push them into his hands a little insistently, because you're not very reassured right now, and you prefer to be. You let him observe them for a moment, before pulling out a little printed sheet of flower definitions. You point to the kinds of flowers that you found, let him read, and revel in the little smile you get from him, until he places them down carefully on the table and looks at you a little more solemnly than you'd like regarding the late Saturday afternoon and the promising of quiet lunch and snuggling in bed. Maybe you're pathetic, but the hardening of his face saddens you, and you have to force your face to remain emotionless as you look at him.

"Kurloz, listen..."  
He rubs the back of his neck, and you try to keep your eyes from drastically increasing in size; he never uses your full first name. He's made shortened nicknames, usually he just calls you babe or love, sweetheart when he's sleepy, Olivia if he's messing around. Darling on occasions, usually on celebratory days and in intimacy. Never your full name. It unsettles you. You just nod at him and try to keep your lips in a line and your eyes directed at him, hands fumbling around with the hem of your cuffs on your hoodie, not sure what to do with themselves.

"I...I've been thinking about this for a while now, and..."  
Maybe this is good, maybe it's good, it might be good-  
"I think we should see other people"

You're façade falls instantly, your eyes wide and your eyebrows upturned, mouth slightly ajar and your heart shattering in your chest.  
He begins to explain, but you can't focus enough to listen; you're losing everything.  
'What did I do wrong?' You sign slowly, hands trembling, and his face is a little panicked now, and his words come out rushed and frantic, but you don't acknowledge it. 

He's...Breaking up with you..? Why? What did you do? If he told you, you'd stop it, you'd never do it again, you'd be better, you'd please him more and you'd try harder- you've been trying really hard already but you'll do better! Your stomach churns as you consider it: no more holding him, no more flowers and holding hands, no more of him kissing your tears when you cry and waking up to hold you when you have your frequent nightmares. No more comfort when you get panic attacks, no more laying your head in his hand when you can't sleep, no more nuzzling up to him, no more pet names and soft, slow sensuality. You'll never hear him again when he sings, when he gasps your name or tells you how beautiful he thinks you are. 

You're positive that your face looks so horrifically broken by this point, you can feel your mouth getting dry and tears pricking at your optics, and you're shaking as you try and sign clearly to him,  
'Are you leaving me?' And it physically /hurts/ to do it and your chest literally aches and you can feel your heart crack like thin ice, something rises in your throat and you feel almost dizzy. Cronus looks almost regretful, but suddenly, he smiles, ducks down and grabs a small paper bag from by the door, and yells,  
"April fools!"  
It's September. 

You get it now, it's a game, but you can't seem to recreate his reaction, reciprocate the now obvious joke.  
You can't smile.  
You try, you really try-

Then you start crying. 

It's just a small little gasping breath at first, your body not used to weeping at all, not because of such deep emotional torment. /It's ok/ you think, /he's not leaving you, it was a joke/. You sob, tears dripping from your eyes and rolling down your cheeks like tiny crystals, and Cronus makes the face of complete and utter regret, and you fumble to sign to him, but your vision is blurred. You sniff, bite your lip and try to catch your breath,  
'It's ok, give me a minute, not your fault' you manage broken sentences, wiping your eyes after but it's pointless, so you just cover your face with your fists and let it happen because you've got no power over it now. 

The next minute, your face is against his shoulder and his arms are around you, his hands in your hair and he's whispering comfort to you but his voice is shaking and you try to console him, step back and cup his face in your hands. You brush away the fresh droplets on his face, shushing him quietly, and he looks at you with utter disbelief, pain and questioning in his eyes. You're crying harder than he is, but you try all the same, until he pushes your hands away and now you don't know what to do so you stand there and sob and stare at him with begging, confused eyes and you feel so lost-  
"W-why are you comforting me, idiot?" He chokes out, and you chew on your lip until your teeth rip the skin and blood floods your senses, you shrug and gaze at him.

'You're upset'  
"I'm upset?! Look at you, you're fucking breaking apart on the spot because of me!"  
'I'm ok, you're not. I don't want you to be sad'  
"And I don't want you crying, I-I don't want you to lie about being ok!"

You freeze up and retract your hands to your chest, looking down at your feet and trying to breathe normally but your sobs are interrupting it. Finally, your mouth obeys, and you force out a tiny, broken few words.  
"I'm sorry"  
He makes the smallest noise, and pulls you to his chest, pressing your flush together and there's literally no space between you, his arms around your shoulders and your waist, he's whispering consolation again and you bury your face in his shirt, arms curving around him and you hold onto the fabric of his top like he'll disappear if you're not grasping tight enough. His fingers move up and comb through your raven black curls now, you nuzzle your cheek against him and drink in his scent, like metal and the ocean and moonlight. 

"God, babe...Fuck, I'm sorry" his voice is more levelled out now and he seems to have calmed a little, you're glad about that. You never really realise how...Selfless you are when it comes to Cronus. Everyone else, you're actually very selfish, but this little Scottish miracle that you found 5 years ago? He's an exception to everything. He cups your face in his rough, calloused hands and kisses your lips softly, and you shut your eyes and lean into him, tears gradually slowing and drying. 

He reaches over to the little pile of flowers on the table then, plucking out a minute, very nearly alive apple blossom, most of the colours still vibrant on its ruffled petals. He smiles softly at you, gingerly checks the crumpled sheet of definitions, laughs quietly.

"I prefer you over all"


End file.
